


Enough

by callidryas



Series: Long Walk Home [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Angst, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, M/M, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Temporary Character Death, Trauma, lots of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callidryas/pseuds/callidryas
Summary: Wade searched frantically around him until he found Peter sitting on the ground behind him, leaning against a dirty brick wall. He stared vacantly at the holes in Wade’s suit. His gloved hands held his mask and were caked with a mix of dried and fresh blood, and not just Wade’s.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Spider-Man/Deadpool
Series: Long Walk Home [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915012
Kudos: 72





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for lots of blood, gore, guns, death, anxiety, self-hate, and depression. If you couldn’t tell, this gets pretty heavy.

This wasn't how the night was supposed to go at all. 

Wade's first thoughts in this moment were about the warmth he felt at his back, the hardness of the concrete beneath him, and the burn in his lungs from lack of oxygen. Eventually, the bullet holes that tore through him earlier that night sealed shut enough to take one harsh, gasping breath. It was excruciating, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream in both pain and relief. A cough was forced from his throat and he rolled over onto his side, feeling every wound in his chest not yet healed. More blood dripped from his mouth to the ground in slimy globs, and Wade remembered some of what had happened that led him here. 

He and Spidey-  _ Shit, Spidey!  _ Wade searched frantically around him until he found Peter sitting on the ground behind him, leaning against a dirty brick wall. He stared vacantly at the holes in Wade’s suit. His gloved hands held his mask and were caked with a mix of dried and fresh blood, and not just Wade’s.

He and Wade were on a normal patrol when they came upon some members from two rival gangs yelling at each other. It was obvious it would turn violent soon, so they stepped in to save the day. Except one gang member pulled his gun on Peter, turning a simple skirmish into a potential disaster. Wade remembered the terrified look in his eyes, how the whites had shown so brightly like a scared puppy. Peter had had a gun pulled on him before, no doubt, but in such close range there was no way he could successfully defend himself. Wade was able to disarm the guy with a katana, but he got shot in the chest by someone else. They were surrounded with no escape in sight. The disarmed man’s gun fell near Peter’s foot, and without thinking, Peter picked it up. He didn’t mean for the gun to go off. He hadn’t even realized the trigger had been pulled until it was too late. His instincts told him,  _ Go now! Protect Wade! _ even though he knew Wade didn't need much protecting.The man didn’t get up. Blood poured from the wound in his shoulder, too much for something so small. Peter felt like vomiting. Before he realized he had hit an artery, Wade was already pulling him away. The other members crowded around the lifeless body, lifting him into a nearby car and quickly driving away. Peter did nothing but watch. Peter left the man to die.

Now the two were silent in an alley, save for Wade’s breath that gradually sounded less and less like gravel. Wade pushed himself from the ground. He felt like every muscle in his body was on fire, and he grimaced at the feeling of blood squishing between his skin and his suit and the ground. Peter remained motionless. Wade reached out to touch his knee, to comfort him in any way possible, but before he could make contact he stopped, and he realized that  _ Peter was crying. _ “Petey?” Wade asked. Peter finally met his eyes. They were bloodshot to hell and back. His breathing was ragged. His cheeks wet with tears. “Peter, talk to me,” Wade prodded. He took a deep, rattling breath. 

“I’ve never killed anyone before,” he confessed. His voice cracked as he said it. Wade’s stomach sank with understanding. The two stayed silent for a while, not knowing what else to say. Wade was so accustomed to death that he had no idea how to comfort him. He remembered his first kill as a mercenary, sure, but by then he was already hardened by the world. Peter was still so young and untouched by the kind of self-hatred Wade dealt with on a daily basis. Wade hated the thought of Peter turning out to be anything remotely like him.

Wade hesitated before leaning in and wrapping his arms around his shoulders in a tight embrace. Peter finally let himself go. He sobbed into Wade’s shoulder, smearing blood onto the side of his face. They stayed there for what felt like hours, holding each other tightly, Wade seemingly towering over Peter’s helpless body.

The walk home that night was painfully long, and just as quiet. Peter’s feet ached, but Wade forced him to take a shower before they went to bed. They showered together, working in tandem to wash away every bit of blood and dirt and whatever else was stuck to their bodies until the water ran clear down the drain. Peter stayed in the bathroom to comb his hair while Wade went out into the bedroom to get their clothes from the dresser. Peter wordlessly took them from him and put the soft pajamas on. The softness of the material greatly contrasted how he felt inside- sharp, fragile, like shards of broken glass. He sat on top of the toilet seat, mind racing but quiet at the same time. He was experiencing everything and nothing and it was too god damn overwhelming, so he began to cry just like in the alleyway- silent with a vacant stare. Wade came in after a few minutes, wondering what Peter was doing to take so long. Wade put a hand on his shoulder, but Peter jerked away like Wade’s hand was a searing hot iron. He softened when he realized it was just Wade and his trance-like state was tricking him into thinking he was in danger.

“Baby, you need to try to sleep,” Wade said.

“I can’t,” Peter croaked.

“You don’t know that,” Wade persisted.

Peter took a shaky breath. He felt like he had too much air in his lungs and his chest might soon collapse.

“Okay,” he caved.

It wasn’t until early that morning that Peter slept, and even then, he dreamed of blood-stained hands and the smell of iron and gunpowder. 

Wade did everything he could, but he wasn’t sure even that was enough. He wasn’t sure he was enough. Peter didn’t deserve him. He didn’t deserve Peter.


End file.
